The Two Halves Of My Heart
by privatephilosopher
Summary: Two-shot. IKAG and Post-IKAG.
1. Once Upon A Time We Fell Apart

A/N: Don't own Glee. (If I did, IKAG would have happened very differently). Also, title from _Princess of China_ by Coldplay. I should probably mention I wrote the first part of this very mindlessly. I don't really like how it turned out, but, oh well. Writing is writing.

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><p><strong>Once upon a time we fell apart.<strong>

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><p>"Santana, you're all bones. Like Jesus on the cross. Eat."<p>

That could have been her first warning. She could have dropped the whole thing and backed away, retreating back behind her carefully constructed façade, never to re-emerge again. She could have smiled and obeyed her Abuelita. After all, she always had; from that first moment when her parents dropped her off in this tiny little house because they had no time to look after her themselves.

She could have. But something in her didn't want to.

_I have something that I want to talk to you about._

"Okay, who cares? Talk with your mouth full."

She smiled, how could she help it? Memories of her childhood resurfaced from the deep ocean of her mind, bursting free of the waves like dolphins arching into the night. In a span of a few seconds, she remembered all those moments spent with this woman attempting to teach her the proper ways of the table. ("Santana, don't talk with your mouth full. Chew properly. No, no, no, don't do that – what did I say about talking with your mouth full?")

Their relationship was rocky, to say the least, but Santana relied on her Abuela in ways she never could with her parents. After all, through thick and thin, and when push came to shove, her Abuela was the one constant in her life – long before Brittany had even come into the picture.

Maybe that would be enough, Santana wished fervently to herself as she stood and coaxed her Abuela back to the kitchen table. As she gently laid her arms around the tiny woman, she thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, they had both been through so much together that it could cancel out the secret she was about to reveal. She mustered all her courage to look away from the tablecloth and into the eyes of the woman who raised her as her own.

_I have to tell you a secret. A secret I've kept hidden for a long time._

"You need salsa?"

That could have been warning number two. For a split second, Santana wondered to herself if her grandmother was interrupting her on purpose – if she was cutting her off because some part of her didn't actually want to have this conversation.

_Please._

There were very few times Santana said that word without being sarcastic. ("Please say you love me back, please.") It was one of those words that sounded so harmless – but almost always carried so much more meaning than it seemed. And tonight, it meant the world. **Please listen to me. Please don't push me away. Please still love me the way I know you do, because you're the only real family that I've got.**

_You're so special to me._

"Santana, are you pregnant? Because I will beat you up with this chair."

It was literally the farthest thing from her mind. Santana couldn't fight the shocked and amused laugh that bubbled out of her mouth, as her eyes drifted back to the tablecloth while she tried to re-gather her wits.

_Not, it's not – it's not that._

Her grandmother's face softened. It could never be that, Santana almost said, but she held the words back. She furrowed her brow slightly, trying to find the words to let her Abuela hear what she was going to say. And why she was going to say it now. Raising her eyes back to the other woman, Santana tried again.

_It's just that I've watched you my whole life. And you've always been so strong. Done exactly what you believed, and never cared about what anyone else thought about you._

And it was true. Santana couldn't count with her fingers the number of times she had seen her grandmother be strong and uncompromising. Santana had always secretly admired her for her firm resolve, and since a young age had vowed to be just like her.

"Tell me about your life. I know mine."

_Abuelita…_

Santana found herself staring at the tablecloth yet again. She willed her eyes to look back into the other woman's. What she couldn't find in herself she found there: silent encouragement.

_I love girls... The way I'm supposed to love boys._

It was like watching a light go out. Outwardly, her Abuela was still, calm and quiet, but Santana knew her grandmother very well, and she could distinctly see something shift in the older woman's eyes. Panic began to settle into Santana's system, and she was filled with an inexplicable urge to explain.

_It's-it's just something that always been inside of me, and I really want to share it with you because I love you so much. I want you to know me – who I really am._

Her hand was over her heart, and she could feel it pounding heavily. This was one of the most difficult things she had ever done in her life – but she wasn't going to back out now. She felt herself leaning closer to the other woman across the table.

_When I'm with Brittany, I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love._

Santana felt a warm rush of courage when she thought of the blonde, courage to continue on. She watched as the older woman blinked and moved her gaze to the side, inhaling deeply.

_And I've tried so hard to push this feeling away and keep it locked inside… but everyday just feels like a war._

Her Abuela blinked, looking from one side to another, her head bowed.

_And I walk around so mad at the world. But I'm really just fighting with myself._

The other woman lifted her head again, but her gaze still avoided Santana's.

_ I don't want to fight anymore. I'm just too tired. I have to just be me._

Santana watched as her Abuela's flickered to her once, before dropping again. She was uncharacteristically silent, and Santana narrowed her eyes nervously.

_Say something, please._

When the older woman looked back at her, Santana felt a tinge of fear in her heart.

"Everyone has secrets, Santana. They're called secrets for a reason."

Santana held her breath while her heart sped up as the fear burst full force. Her grandmother just stared at her with a cold expression, her voice firm. Santana realized then that her grandmother had constructed walls around her heart. It would be close to impossible to get through.

"I want you to leave this house. I don't ever want to see you again."

Santana couldn't believe her ears. She was prepared for an onslaught of anger, certainly. Disappointment, maybe. But rejection? The way it was washing over her in overwhelming waves? She didn't think she could take it.

_Abuela, you don –_

"Go."

_You don –_

"Now."

Santana felt like someone had grabbed the heart in her chest, holding it still and keeping it from beating. She fought against the feeling, trying to get across one last time.

_I'm the same person I was a minute ago._

"You made your choice. Now I have made mine."

Santana stared disbelievingly across the table at her Abuela.

_But – why?_

Her Abuela looked away, hands clasped tightly together.

"It's selfish of you to make me uncomfortable."

The hold on her heart turned icy and tight, and Santana felt her composure slipping as she fought back tears.

"The sin isn't in the _thing_, it's in the scandal when people talk about it aloud."

_So you're saying it would have been better if I would have kept this a secret?_

Her Abuela looked at her. Throughout her entire life, Santana had grown accustomed to the different faces of her grandmother: her glares of anger and frustration, her nods of pride and happiness. Her grandmother was nothing but expressive. And tonight, she was especially so.

Tonight, she was wearing a look Santana could identify instantly, though she had never seen it before. It broke over her like cold water trickling on her flesh, sweeping over her and seeping into her skin. It left a deep ache in her chest, crushing her spirit and crumbling down her resolve.

I don't know who you are, her Abuela's eyes said. It was infinitely worse than if she had actually said the words out loud.

Her Abuela rose to her feet and began to walk away. Out of the kitchen, out of Santana's life.

_Abuela._


	2. The Two Halves Of My Heart

A/N: I am really beginning to dislike the new people behind Glee. I honestly have no idea how much longer I'll be sticking to this show. Regardless. Brittana all the way.

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><p><strong>You're holding in your hands the two halves of my heart.<strong>

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><p>She isn't sure exactly how she manages to make it out of her Abuela's house – it feels as though she did it on all-fours, crawling pitifully on the floor to the front door. She can't figure how she made it all the way into the safety of her car, sprawled inelegantly across the back seats, grasping the material like a lifeline.<p>

It's cold. So cold.

She fumbles for her pockets, where she knows she shoved her phone while she was getting dressed, not so long before this whole thing even happened. It almost seems funny, having dressed up so carefully for this conversation. Some part of her hoped that if her grandmother realized she was still the same person – dressing the same way, talking the same way, acting the same way – it would be so much easier for her to accept that this was just the way things were.

She knows better now. It's stupid to hope. _They were right,_ she thinks to herself bitterly. _Hope breeds eternal despair._ And eternal despair it is – she doesn't know how she was going to live through losing her grandmother like this.

It was like a sick, cosmic joke. Last night had hurt when she realized that her parents didn't care about her enough to be bothered by her secret. But right now felt ultimately worse, now that her grandmother, the one family who did really care, was bothered about it.

_They're called secrets for a reason._ It echoes in her mind, filling up the empty spaces in her with feelings so strong she can't identify them. She struggles to shove them away and bury them deep, just like every other insecurity she's ever had.

But she can't do that anymore, not the way she used to. Not after these past two weeks, with every single passing day serving as a brand new reminder of all the things she's been struggling with for so long.

_You can't admit to everybody that you're in love with Brittany and she might not love you back._

Her fingers close around her phone, and she pulls the object out of her tight pocket so she can dial the one number that would connect her to the only person she has ever wanted. But her fingers tremble uncontrollably, failing her traitorously.

_I want you to leave this house._

Santana feels a sob trying to claw its way out of her body, but she fights it back. How can this be fair? How can any of this be fair? It isn't like she didn't try to purge herself of all the things she felt for Brittany. It isn't like she chose to this for herself. No, the only choice she made tonight was to be honest about who she truly was. Why was that wrong? How could that be wrong?

Squeezing her eyes shut, Santana tries again. Her fingers move over a well-known keypad, slowly punching in a series of memorized digits. She doesn't bring the phone to her ear, but she still hears the affectionate, "San?" when Brittany picks up after the first ring. The sound feels like a first breath after drowning.

Santana doesn't say anything, but in a way, she doesn't need to. "I'm coming." Brittany says, her voice strong and comforting. "Honey, I'm coming."

When the line goes dead, Santana remembers briefly that she didn't tell Brittany where she is – but something warm and unknown sweeps away that worry. Brittany always seems to know where she is, almost as though she was born with some strong instinct that leads her to wherever Santana is. Brittany always finds her – even on those days when Santana can't find herself.

Sure enough, it's a little over ten minutes later when she hears a light rap on the window above Santana's head. It comes in that secret rhythm they both devised for each other, on those long-lost nights in sophomore year when they would sneak into each other's houses through second-floor windows.

It makes Santana feel a bit scared when she realizes that the sound doesn't make her feel like smiling like it usually does.

Keeping her eyes shut, she reaches blindly upwards and unlocks the door. A cold breeze blows in, and Santana shivers. She hears the other girl clamber in, closing the door behind her. She feels Brittany spread herself into the available open space, snaking her arms around Santana until they're both pressed tightly together. It should nice, to feel Brittany's warmth wrapping around her body like this. It should feel like gently burning fire spreading warmth gradually from the tip of her fingers.

But it isn't.

"Oh, San." Brittany murmurs, her voice small and sad in a way that makes Santana want to hurt somebody. "I've got you." Santana wonders for a moment if Brittany's trembling, before she realizes that she's the one shaking like a miniature earthquake.

She wants to say something then. Anything. She doesn't care remotely if it's about school, Trouble Tones, college applications halfway across the country. But she can't think of the world outside of her mind. In here, she's trapped with thoughts that all run along the lines of _I just got disowned by my only real family. Will you be leaving me, too?_

Her fingers closing tightly over the soft fabric of Brittany's shirt. In her mind she can see a confusing blend of the past two weeks, memories merging into one another until she can't remember what happened when, what was real and what she's imagined. She can see Finn yelling in a crowded hallway; Sylvester, Burt Hummel and Schuester in a cramped office, a fifteen second advertisement with her smiling face flashing mockingly at her on the screen. She sees twirling black dresses and stern-faced Figgins, a misguided Finn thinking he can fix her up. Her life is in pieces around her, and in her mind the fragments are scattered thoroughly across a great expanse of dark, empty space. She doesn't think she can put them back together again.

_Stop,_ she begs silently, pressing her face into Brittany's collarbone and drowning herself in the other girl's scent._ Stop, I don't want to think, I don't want to feel, I don't want to remember …_

She thinks she says it to herself, but Brittany must hear her, because all of a sudden Brittany's wrenching her away from her chest and pressing their foreheads together like their lives depend on it. And maybe it does.

"Santana." Brittany murmurs, her warm hand cupping Santana's cheek, "Do you remember that time we auditioned for Glee?"

For the second time that night, Santana feels completely caught off guard. For a moment she feels slightly annoyed – here she is, at the lowest point of her life, and Brittany's mind has gone off at another abstract tangent.

Then just as quickly as the annoyance came, it vanishes and leaves behind a sense of guilt. Brittany may bring up the most random and seemingly out of place topic for discussion, but she isn't stupid or insensitive. Santana knows that. Knows that with all that she is.

So she thinks about it. She tries to remember that day, almost three years ago. But her mind feels blocked off from all the moments that go back farther than two weeks in the past, and she feels surprised to realize that she can't really remember.

She shakes her head.

"I can." Brittany replies in the same soft voice, her hand moving from Santana's cheek to her hair. Santana can feel her pushing back the loose strands, tucking them behind her ear gently. "It was a very cold. Colder than usual. Do you remember that?" Brittany's free hand rubs up and down Santana's back, generating the smallest bit of heat. "It was really cold and you didn't really want to try out because Glee Club was lame and all you wanted to do was go home and get warm in your bed."

Santana can remember a little bit now, the memories coming back to her with every word Brittany says. She nods slightly.

"Then Quinn got upset and almost cried, because even if she really didn't like the idea of Finn and Rachel hooking up, she didn't like the idea of audition without you, too." Brittany pauses. "Do you remember that?"

Behind Santana's closed eyes she suddenly recalls the torn look in Quinn's eyes, the one she rarely saw then but always sees now. She nods.

"I didn't really know what to do." Brittany admits. "I thought Glee Club sounded kinda cool and I wanted to help Quinn out, but you were the awesomest person in school, the only one who didn't make fun of me, and I wanted to hang out with you more than anyone else." She inhales deeply. "I thought you were going to go anyway and leave me."

Santana swallows painfully at the memory.

"But you stayed. You stayed and help me choreograph. And even if you were feeling cold and pretended not to care, I realized that you wanted to help Quinn, too."

Santana still doesn't feel like talking, but there's a burning question in her mind. "Britt," she manages to choke out hoarsely, "why are you telling me all this now?"

For a moment Brittany says nothing. "Well," Brittany answers honestly, "I just wanted to let you know that was the moment I knew."

"The moment you knew?" Santana asks, feeling even more confused. "Knew what?"

She feels more than sees Brittany smile. "The moment I knew that you would never leave me behind."

That's all it takes. That's all it takes for Santana to finally give into the silent storm. The tears spill unimpeded from her eyes, feeling oddly hot and cold at the same time as they run over the tired flesh of her face. Brittany's hands frame her face, the pads of her thumbs wiping away the tears as they fall.

"Remember Invitationals?" Her voice is a bit stronger now, though still in the same volume. "Remember that drunk old lady who came and joined the New Directions because Rachel was being a drama queen? We had that awesome cowboy number."

The image of April Rhodes dressed in hot pink for _My Last Name_ pops into Santana's mind, and she hears herself chuckling. It's a raspy sound, and coupled with her tears it's barely the makings of laugh, but it's almost close enough.

"We were so nervous before _Somebody To Love_. When we were changing backstage you took my hand and held it tightly, telling me over and over again that we were going to be great. I thought you were trying to give me a pep talk so I could feel better." Brittany stops and makes a small, curious sound. There's a brief silence, before she continues in a subdued tone, "But right before we went on stage you gave me this look. And I realized you were more scared than I was. So I told you it was going to be okay, and after the number you hugged me so tight and told me that I was right. Do you remember?"

Santana remembers now, very clearly, and with a nervous swallow she recalls –

"That was the first time you kissed me." Brittany's voice is softer again, but somehow warmer and sweeter. "That was the moment." Santana doesn't ask, but Brittany tells her anyway. "The moment I knew that I would never leave you."

A sob finally breaks free from Santana's body. It's bizarre that what Brittany just said makes her heal and hurt in varying degrees. "She disowned me." Santana finally blurts out, the words barely coherent, or even audible. "I told her and she disowned me, Britt, and I, I… I didn't think it would hurt this bad and I just, I just… _I_ _can't._"

Brittany makes the same peculiar sound. "San," Brittany moves impossibly closer, her sweet breath fanning Santana's face. "Honey, please look at me."

It takes a lot of courage, but when she finally dares to look up, she's stunned when she realizes that Brittany's _crying, _too. Brittany is looking down at her, into her, her own blue eyes deep and endless, tender and hurting. It makes Santana hurt even more to know that Brittany is hurting, too – not just with her, but for her.

"I love you." Brittany says, her voice breaking at the last syllable. "I love you and I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

Santana shakes her head until it hurts. She can hear the words clearly; she can feel them as they etch themselves sharply on her face. But she refuses to accept it. She can't believe it. She doesn't want to. She's too scared.

The doubt and fear must be visible on her face because all Brittany does is pull her even close until they're kissing messily, choking on each other's tears as they pull wildly at each other. Santana can feel Brittany's heart pounding everywhere she touches her, reminder her keenly of her own heart, shattered and useless. She's wrenching herself away before she can even think about it.

"She broke my heart." Santana moans brokenly, closing her eyes again because it just hurts too much to look. "She broke my heart, Britt."

"You can take mine, San." Brittany murmurs in quiet response, taking both of Santana's hands in hers and pressing them over her beating heart. "Take mine because it's always, always been yours. I can take yours and handle all the pain for a while."

On any other day, Santana would have laughed and booped her on the nose, with a giggle and a gush of "cute" or "adorable." But today all she can do is cry some more, feeling the weirdest ever combination of relief and pain as she burrowing farther into Brittany in an attempt to hide from the rest of the world just a little bit longer, before she has to get herself together enough to make it back to the house that has never been her home.

Because here? Right here, right now, even as her body struggles to continue functioning and her heart is torn in two, with Brittany's hands holding hers over a steadily thumping heart, this is still the closest thing she's ever been to home. This is still the only thing she's ever, ever thought of as love. Never mind that she's draped on the backseat of her car outside her Abuela's house, never mind that she's going to fall victim to endless remarks and insults for the rest of her life. And, in a way, never mind if no one else can really, truly understand – she can't give this up for anything.


End file.
